aeneia: (Default)
a e n e i a . ([personal profile] aeneia) wrote in [community profile] nonsuch2015-12-18 01:01 pm

& open gen post iii.

↠ lyrics, images, prompts, take your pick

scinlae: (for you to see)

[personal profile] scinlae 2016-01-11 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ She knows he is coming, she feels it in the air. A creaking sound in her bones, the taste of brine on her tongue, soft whispers from the depths in her ears. He is coming, it tells her, true to his word he has returned. Done the deed, done away with the filth, with those sickly hands of men who thought themselves better. Men who saw the flesh of a woman instead of the hurricane underneath.

They had done much to earn their deaths, all of them. Surely they knew if their plot was exposed he would not stop, he would bathe himself in their blood. Surely they knew that she could see through their false pretenses of praise. Surely, surely, surely. It is why they had them both poisoned. What fools they were.

She waits for him high upon the tower, for she knows she needn't rush down to him upon the boats return. Yet still she watches from her perch, fingers curled around the dark sleeves of her dress, slightly damp from the ocean spray. It sinks into her skin, leaves behind whispers for a world she knows too well, the smell of rot and salt. Fond she is of it now, for it clings to Corvo like a cloak even in his cleaner hours. Rot and salt and the bitter copper of blood, the filth of the city itself and the blackness darker than black itself.

The sound of the blade hitting wooden floor turns her head from the window, metallic shine marred by dried blood. She steps to pick it up, gentle in her grip, brushing her fingers along it. The blood of rich men, of sneers and false pleasantries. It delights her to see it, smear the dried blood with her fingers, the knowledge that they had died painfully, violently. She barely notices the blade slice her finger, blood quick to rush through the wound. That hand instead raises as she reaches him, caressing the cool metal of his mask, decorating it with new streaks of red.

He has come back to her worn and bloody, murk of the river of the city itself clinging to his clothes. She thinks he could not be more of a beautiful sight.

Clutching the blade still she removes his mask, reverently putting it aside before returning focus to him. Corvo, her blade, her broken man, forever waiting at her alter for whatever scraps she will grant him. Only she grants him more than that, opens her ribs and beckons him inside, coils around him like a snake. She grants him much for he is hers, more than any others, more than the Outsider's. ]


[ Fingers dance across his skin, smearing her blood upon it. His cheek, his temple, his chin, his lips. She smiles at him, a gentle smile reserved for only two people within this city, shifting herself up and closer. ]

I knew you would return.

[ A kiss, a reward, an oddly chaste thing so rare in this dark and dangerous thing they have. ]